A Promise to Love (14 page)

The only thing he could say for his brother was at least Zeb had gotten their mother out of there before Barb could do any worse damage. Still, the trip itself had been hard on her.

Ingrid brushed away her tears and headed toward her bedroom.

“You. Sleep in here with me. You be ready if mother need help in night.”

He was tired to the bone and enormously grateful not to have to sleep in the barn again. He pulled his shirt off over his head and climbed into his good bed for the first time in days.

The baby stirred in his cradle on Ingrid's side of the bed, and he heard her set the cradle rocking while she hummed a soft lullaby. He left the door of their bedroom open so he could hear if his mother got up in the middle of the night. He knew she would be disoriented and frightened.

Soon, little Bertie, calmed by the rocking of the cradle and Ingrid's lullaby, settled back down. There was not a peep from the girls upstairs. The only sound was that of crickets outside their windows.

Ingrid lay poised, with her arm draped over the side of the bed and her hand on Bertie's cradle, ready to set it in motion again if the baby started to stir.

Joshua turned on his side and put his arm around her waist, so grateful for her tenderness toward his mother and children that he could hardly speak.

“What?” She shoved his arm away. “You want be friendly? Now we have baby on one side and mother on other side?”

“No,” he answered, putting his arm around her waist again. “I'm just grateful to have you here beside me.”

Ingrid lay for a long time, staring into the darkness, with Joshua's arm heavy around her waist and his breath against her neck. He had fallen asleep quickly. She did not mistake his touch for the embrace of a loving husband. She knew that at this point she was not much more to him than Polly's rag doll was to her—something comforting to hang on to.

There was a very good chance that was all she would ever be to Joshua, nothing more than something to cling to when life got hard. This knowledge made her miss her twin brother terribly. There had never been a time when she had been without her brother's love and protection. That very fact was the thing that convinced her that he no longer lived. She knew him too well.

The day after the wedding, Hazel had promised to send Ingrid's new address to the boardinghouse where she was supposed to have met him, just in case he finally showed up—but there had been no word.

Sending the address was only a long shot anyway. If Hans were alive, nothing would have kept him from meeting her. They had made such good plans. Hans would be making a dollar and a quarter per day in the lumber camps. Timbered-over land was going for less than a dollar and a quarter per acre. One year's pay would buy them more land than they could ever dream of owning in Sweden. They had discussed the legacy they hoped to create for their families—two farms, close together. Maybe as much as three hundred acres between them. Even more if Hans spent another year in the lumber camp. They had planned for their children to grow up together as close as brothers and sisters.

Now, that good and decent dream was forever gone, and instead she had eight people to feed, dress, and clean up after—all crowded together in a two-room log cabin. Her responsibilities were growing. With the exception of this one glorious day when she and her new family had gone visiting, her marriage with Joshua had felt like they were two mules yoked together, pulling the same heavy load. She was a strong woman, but even she could only bear so much—especially when she knew that she was not loved.

At an emotional dead end, she carefully extricated herself from the bed and knelt beside it, her head bowed.

How do I do this, Lord? How do I endure? How do I continue to serve and love this man and his family when I know that he may never view me as anything more than convenient household help? The work is hard, and the days are long. Now, with Joshua's mother here to care for, it is nearly overwhelming . . . how do I do this, Father?

She rested her bowed head on her clasped hands, hoping for something that would give her the strength to go on.

There was no voice, no miraculous revelation. Her great fatigue made her want to forget about praying and simply climb back into bed and sink into oblivion—but then a glimmer of an idea began to form. An idea that was so simple and pure that she was amazed she had missed it.

As a married woman, she had focused her life entirely on what Joshua thought, if Joshua would be impressed with her management of his home and children . . . if Joshua would ever love her.

No more.

She could not spend her life trying to gain Joshua's approval. If she continued to base her happiness on the moods of this damaged man, she knew that someday there would be nothing left of her.

A long time ago, she had vowed to serve the Lord in everything she did, wherever he led. For a while she had lost sight of that vow. Now, she renewed it. No longer would she be serving only her husband and his family with the work of her hands.

Clothes would still get washed, meals would still appear on the table, the children would still be lovingly cared for. But the motive behind all her hard labor would change.

From now on, she wouldn't just be diapering Bertie, or scrubbing clothes, or washing sticky little hands and faces—she would be serving the Lord. Every meal she cooked, every bucket of water she lugged from the well—all of it would be in service to the Lord. Everything she did in caring for these precious children, this fragile mother, this damaged man—would be, in her heart, a sacrifice of love to Christ.

Her workload would be no lighter, her hunger to be loved by her husband no less, but she knew instinctively that her life would be infinitely easier if she could simply hold on to this one, noble premise—of quietly living every mundane detail of her life for God.

With that one resolution, everything changed and she went to sleep with renewed strength to face the challenges of the coming day.

 13 

Joshua awoke to find Ingrid standing over him with Bertie in her arms. Her toe was tapping furiously. “You change and feed baby,” she said. “I need to help . . . what is mother's name?”

“Mary.”

“I need to help Mary.” She lay Bertie beside him in the bed and hurried out the door.

Joshua yawned and propped himself up on one elbow. “I guess it's just me and you, little fellow.”

Bertie gurgled and kicked his strong little legs out of the baby blanket in which Ingrid had wrapped him.

“Oh, you want to play, do you?” Joshua captured a tiny toe. “This little piggy went to market . . .”

Bertie belly laughed, which made Joshua smile. Then the little boy quieted as he anticipated Joshua's next move. “This little piggy stayed home.”

Another peal of belly laughter.

It was intoxicating, playing with his child. The need to head out the door and start his morning chores evaporated as he lost himself in the moment.

“This little piggy had roast beef.” Another belly laugh.

“And this little piggy had none.”

The door flew open and Ingrid stood there with her hands on her hips. “You change baby and feed baby. Not play with baby. Ja?”

He looked directly at her as he deliberately disobeyed and tweaked the littlest toe. “And this little piggy went wee, wee, wee, all the way home.”

That one definitely hit Bertie's funny bone. He giggled so hard that neither Ingrid nor Joshua could keep from laughing with him.

“I know. I know.” Joshua climbed out of the bed and lifted Bertie up into his arms. “Feed baby. Change baby.”

“Breakfast is almost ready. Bertie's too.”

Joshua saw his mother dressed and sitting quietly on the side of the makeshift bed.

“Mother?” he asked. “How are you feeling?”

His mother was in her early seventies, but she had failed so badly since the last time he saw her, she could have been mistaken for a ninety-year-old woman.

“It was a very long trip.” Her voice quavered, whether from fatigue or emotion he couldn't tell.

“I know, Mother. I'm sorry.”

“I don't want to go back.” Her eyes looked haunted.

“You don't have to, Mother. You can stay with us.”

“That woman over there . . .” Her voice sounded worried. “She's not Diantha.”

“Her name is Ingrid. Diantha died.”

“Diantha is dead?”

“Nearly three months ago. Remember? I wrote to you at Zeb and Barbara's?”

She grasped his hand and looked straight into his eyes. “I don't want to go back there.”

He glanced up at Ingrid. She was standing by the stove, watching. Their eyes met, and there was a flash of understanding between them. Both wanted to wring Zeb and Barbara's necks.

Once Mary had been given breakfast, she seemed to grow a little stronger, both in mind and body. Agnes took over the job of brushing her grandmother's hair. Ellie and Trudy hovered around her. Polly kept bringing small items and laying them on her grandmother's lap as though she were trying to give her presents.

Little by little, Mary seemed to come out of her near-stupor. She began to notice the children and even pretended to examine the items Polly brought her, thanking her for each little gift.

“How in the world did your hair get in such a mess, Grandma?” Agnes said as she worked at untangling another snarl.

“I-I couldn't find a comb or brush for a very long time.”

“But it would take weeks to get this many tangles.”

“I used to have a beautiful brush and mirror set that your grandfather bought me. It was ceramic and had little violets painted on the back.”

“What happened to it?” Agnes asked.

“Barbara gave it to her oldest daughter.”

“Did you ask for it back?”

“I did, but Barbara said I was too old to have such pretty things.”

Ingrid did a slow boil. What kind of a woman would do such a thing? If she ever met her sister-in-law, she was going to give her such a piece of her mind!

After setting some stew to simmering for dinner and washing the dishes, she spread out the new ticking on the table, measured the bed Joshua had made, and began to cut.

“I used to sew well.” Mary's voice was tentative. “But I can barely thread a needle anymore.”

“The girls thread for you—you want to help?” Ingrid asked.

“Oh.” Mary acted startled. “I doubt I could do a good job.”

“So what? Is only a mattress.”

“I suppose I could maybe do some basting.”

“That is big help.”

She wondered what was going on inside Josh's mind. Why he was allowing her to carry the conversation with his mother. He had chosen to work inside this morning, which was unusual. At the moment he was standing near the stove, soldering a cooking pot that had developed a leak. It was not, however, a pot she particularly needed—it could have easily waited until winter when he would be forced to stay inside.

After Agnes finished brushing all the tangles out of her grandmother's hair, she parted it in the middle and braided it into one long braid.

The change in Mary's looks with her hair brushed and neatly braided was startling. Ingrid could now see where Joshua had gotten his good looks. In spite of the gray hair, Mary still had dark eyelashes and brows, which made her lovely blue eyes, Joshua's eyes, especially noticeable. Ingrid could see the shadow of the girl Mary had once been and decided that Joshua's mother had probably had her choice of beaus.

Mary ran her hands over her smooth braid. “Oh, that's such a relief. Thank you.”

Ingrid pinned the edges of the mattress together, then handed Agnes a needle and thread. “Here, thread this for Grandmother.”

No matter how badly Mary sewed, it could be redone later. For now, her mother-in-law needed the reassurance of doing some small task, but considering how weak Mary had been last night, Ingrid wasn't entirely sure she could even push a needle through the cloth.

“Come over here to table, Mary. I need help, please.”

Mary sat staring at the material, the needle and thread in her hand.

“Is something wrong?” Ingrid asked.

“I need my spectacles.”

“Agnes, find Grandmother's spectacles.”

Agnes found them in one of the bundles, and Mary began to sew. At first, she was slow. Then she asked for a thimble, and after a few minutes, she seemed to find a rhythm, and the mattress began to take shape quickly. Ingrid stole a glance at her stitches and was impressed. They were as tight and even as her own.

“You are very good at the sewing,” Ingrid said. “Maybe after we finish mattress, we cut new dresses for the girls? You want to help?”

“If you think what I'm doing is good enough.”

“What you sew is very good. Big help.” This time, Ingrid meant it.

“If we get new dresses made for the girls,” Mary mused, “maybe we could go to church soon? Barbara and Zeb seldom went, and I've missed it terribly.”

Then she glanced up, like a child who was afraid she had said something wrong. The look of fright on her face made Ingrid's heart ache with a mixture of pity and anger.

“Ja. We go to the church.
Eller hur
? Good idea, Joshua?”

Joshua appeared to be so deeply engrossed in his work that he didn't respond immediately.

“Joshua?”

“What? Oh, sure. That's fine.”

“
Underbar
! We make the dresses. We go to the church.”

“Ingrid?” Joshua asked. “Could I talk with you outside for a moment?”

His voice was so serious, and his frown so deep, it worried her. Had she done or said something wrong? The only thing she had done was tell Mary they could go to church. Maybe he didn't want to be seen at church with her. Then another thought struck. Maybe he didn't believe in going to church. Maybe he didn't even believe in God! Maybe his prayers at the table before each meal were nothing more than habit. The possibility of Joshua not being a believer had never crossed her mind. Well, she would take the children and Mary to church, even if he didn't want to go with them!

Joshua was so angry he could hardly trust himself to speak in front of his children and mother. He paced back and forth in his yard.

Ingrid came out and closed the door behind her. “What? You not want to go to church? You not believe in God? You not tell me? Why?”

Sometimes, for the life of him, he had no idea what the woman was talking about.

“I go to church, Ingrid, and I most definitely believe in God.”

She seemed slightly mollified by that. “I do something wrong?”

How in the
world
had she come to the conclusion that she had done something wrong? All he'd done was ask to speak to her outside.

“You haven't done anything wrong. I just wanted to tell you that I'm leaving for a while.”

“What! You leave me? With children and baby and mother to care for? You not dare run out on me, Joshua Hunter!”

“Who said anything about running out on you?”

“You! You say you leave me!”

Joshua decided he would think twice before he asked to speak to Ingrid alone again. Evidently, it had scared the girl silly.

“I have something I need to take care of. It will take me all day. I won't be back until very late. Probably not until morning.”

“All day? All night?” Ingrid narrowed her eyes and contemplated his face. “I bet you go to the brother.”

“That's right.”

“Zeb say he on the road two days.”

“That's because he drove a wagon with our mother in it, and he had to stay on passable roads. Cutting cross country, I can make it there and back in half the time. I've done it before.”

“What do you do when you there?”

“I haven't decided yet.”

“Hmm.” Ingrid's toe began to tap, and he knew she was thinking things through. He waited. The toe tapping stopped. She had come to a conclusion.

“I pack you food for trip,” Ingrid said. “I feel sorry for brother when he see you come . . . but not much sorry.”